


'Til Death Do Us Part

by darkerstarss



Series: marvel one shots [5]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Basically, Black Panther - Freeform, Black Widow - Freeform, F/M, I Will Go Down With This Ship, I promise, Nat'challa, Natasha/T'Challa, Post-Endgame, Pre-Iron Man, Wakanda, all the marvel movies - Freeform, basically the mcu rewritten, black panther/black widow, thanks for reading
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-29
Updated: 2019-07-29
Packaged: 2020-07-25 00:14:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,186
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20023351
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/darkerstarss/pseuds/darkerstarss
Summary: "The world is a horrible place, Prince T'Challa, and to some innocence is no reason to let a prospective weapon rest."OR in which Natasha Romanoff and T'Challa Udaku find homes in one another as their world descends into chaos.





	'Til Death Do Us Part

**Author's Note:**

> I'm so proud of this! It actually took me SO LONG to write and it's definietely the longest thing I've posted, by a long shot. I just found this ship a few days ago and I love it but there's almost no content on it, so I'll probably do some one-shots later on based on it.
> 
> And I know I haven't posted in a while, but I've been busy. Okay?
> 
> Comment your feedback, good or bad!

_“Nothing lasts forever.”_

\--- 

It all began in 2002, during a rare visit of the Wakandan royal family to the United States. A twenty-two-year-old prince, the royal couple, and a baby—barely a year old—in tow. Agent Natasha Romanoff was eighteen-years-old at the time; only recently rescued from the clutches of the KGB after merely a year officially under their service and a lifetime of torture in an institution known as the Red Room. 

She was not cleared for combat missions. Yet. 

And so, when the royal family requested a tour of the Triskelion, it was Agent Romanoff who was assigned to the job—an attempt by Agent Fury and Agent Carter to help break through the shell the Red Room had plastered in her likeness. 

And so, the red-haired young woman greeted the family with some semblance of a smile, dressed in casual clothing Agent Barton had bought her in order to help her fit in. The jeans were a smidge too tight and her shirt was loose enough to fall off her right shoulder—she covered the bare skin with a long sweater he also bought for her—but she was thankful the man had tried. He was ten years older than her, but they were slowly becoming friends and she desperately needed some of those. As she approached them, she quickly patted her back pocket to make certain the index cards she had written—just in case—were indeed still there. 

They were, and she let out a sigh of relief. 

“Thank you for agreeing to give us the tour,” the king smiled as she approached, holding out his hand for the agent to shake. She did. 

Her smile broadened a bit; she knew none of them could see it was fake. “Of course.” She didn’t tell them it was an order. The teenager’s eyes fell briefly over every member of the family; some of the most reclusive royals around. Behind the small group stood two women—guards, she assumed—in plain black dresses. The king—somewhere in his fifties—stood with his wife, their small daughter perched on the queen’s hip. Their son T’Challa stood on their right, back straight with a casual grin on his lips. 

“Greetings, Ms Romanoff.” He was quite a handsome man, a thin goatee outlining his chin. He held out his own hand, and she gripped it firmly as she shook it. “It is a pleasure to meet you.” 

“The pleasure is all mine,” Natasha assured him, allowing her smile to linger a bit. When she realized that it wasn’t forced—for once—a strange tingle crept up her spine and she pulled her hand away immediately, clearing her throat and straightening her shoulders. She tucked a loose strand of blood-red hair behind her ear. “Right this way, please.” 

The followed her as she moved. 

Natasha guided them further into the lobby, just as Agent Barton had done for her a matter of months ago. Stopping in front of the large steel statue in the center of the open room, she began speaking. “SHIELD was founded in the post-World War II era, in the wake of the untimely death of Captain America. Famed war guru Howard Stark and lesser-known—but still holding an impressive reputation—Peggy Carter are known as the main co-founders for the organization. Well-known scientist Hank Pym is also known as one of the early members, but left several years ago due to a conflict of morale.” 

“And what exactly would that be?” T’Challa asked from behind her with a slight smirk, accent rolling off his tongue thickly. For a moment it made Natasha’s mind flicker back to her own accent, so perfectly hidden under her years of training. 

Turning on her heels to face him, the red-haired agent resisted smiling. “Classified.” She then gestured towards an arched doorway on the right side of the room, beginning to walk towards it. “If you will continue to follow me, I think you will enjoy this next part.” The doorway led to a medium-sized room with plain white walls and a rounded ceiling. On the walls, however, hung several detailed portraits. “These paintings depict the first council of SHIELD, a decade or so after its founding.” 

As the royals spread out a bit to examine each work of art, Natasha slowly made her way to the portrait of Agent Peggy Carter. She admired the woman. Born into a man’s world, Agent Carter had to fight for what she wanted. And when Agent Barton had presented the teenager he had been sent to kill in front of the council a few months prior—very much still alive, to their displeasure—she had been one of the only ones not to scoff at the idea—she and Agent Fury. 

While most of the council members, new and old, insisted that such a vile creature could never be trained for good, Agent Carter had sat still. And then she had pushed out of her seat and walked towards Natasha. She used her fingers to pull the girl’s face up from where her eyes had been examining her shoes, and said it very simply; “There’s no such thing as a person that can’t change. But there are such people that are unwilling to do so. Are you one of them?” And when the red-head said no, Agent Carter smiled warmly and turned to back to the council, insisting that they were to give Natasha a fair shot. Begrudgingly, the group accepted. 

“I did not take you as one for sentiment,” came a voice from behind her, and Natasha quickly jerked her head to the side. It was merely Prince T’Challa, who had noticed the expression of slight awe and a hidden gratefulness as the young agent looked upon the portrait. 

Slowly, Natasha shook her head, red curls dancing around slightly. “Not sentiment,” she reached into her back pocket and pulled out the set of five idex cards she had hastily written that morning. “notecards.” She looked back to the painting. “I am currently studying the history, rules, and culture of the organization and it’s many siblings.” 

With a slight smile, T’Challa moved his own eyes up to the painting, before looking back down at the agent. “Not to be a tour guide, I presume?” He was met with silence, but after a few moments and a deep breath, the red-haired girl answered. 

“I am currently trying to get clearance for missions. I am a bit of a... special case; they had to write new rules for me, one such being that I know the difference between who I was and who I am expected to be. Lots of memorization.” 

“And who were you?” 

Inhaling sharply, Natasha looked down at her shoes. “You will judge me.” 

“I have no right to do so,” the prince assured her. 

Still, she hesitated before speaking. “I was KGB.” 

The prince was slightly taken aback, though he made no move to run from her or damn her. He simply appeared to be thinking over her words. “You are very young,” he commented after a few moments. 

“The world is a horrible place, Prince T’Challa,” Natasha looked away from the painting, turning to gaze at a few others from where she stood. “and to some innocence is no reason to let a prospective weapon rest.” 

Nodding, T’Challa turned to once again face the same direction as her. “You have no accent.” 

“No, I have one,” the agent confirmed, the smallest of smiles returning to her lips. “But you shall certainly never hear it.” With that, she stepped out into the center of the room and called the family and their guards to move on. 

Two hours later, Natasha parted with the royals uneventfully. She gave each of them a handshake goodbye, and when it was her turn to do so for the young prince, she met his eyes and found it difficult to look away. She didn’t like him... no. 

Even as a teenager, Natasha was a Black Widow. A ruthless killer turned secret agent. She doesn’t get crushes. 

And yet... 

Shamefully, she watched as the family and their guards exited the Triskelion, blushing slightly—though she hated it—when T’Challa turned back for a moment to meet her eyes. Once they were out the door, she heard a low whistle from the side of the room and rolled her eyes, walking towards Agent Barton. 

The man was leaning casually against the wall, snacking on an apple with a cheesy smile. “How was meeting the royal family?” He raised an eyebrow towards her, but Natasha ignored it. 

“They were very nice,” she told him. “Though I am looking forward to working real missions.” 

With a sigh and another bite of his apple, Barton shook his head. “Don’t rush it kid,” he warned once he had swallowed. “It messes you up inside; the things you’re gonna see.” Natasha looked down. “But I guess you get that, huh?” She didn’t answer, and noticing that the topic had shifted to one that made her slightly uncomfortable, he changed it quickly. “So... the prince?” 

At the mention of T’Challa, the red-head's neck snapped up quickly, eyes widening in a dead-giveaway that she thought had been trained out of her. “What?” 

Barton chuckled, standing up a bit straighter and tossing his half-eaten fruit into a nearby trashcan. He then pointed at the small, high-tech hearing-aids perched in his ears. “I’m deaf... not blind. It was pretty clear that he was into you.” Slowly moving her neck back down and fiddling with her hands, the eighteen-year-old couldn’t help the small smile that rested on her lips. The other agent noticed it. “And the interest is very clearly mutual. Did you get his contact info?” 

“No,” Natasha stated, shaking her head. “I am a spy. I have no time for such trivial matters.” 

“Love?” 

“Yes.” 

“Love isn’t silly, kid,” Barton insisted, leaning back against the wall once again. “Maybe one day, when you’re cleared for missions and... we know whose side you’re on,” it was a pang to her heart, but she knew that her young age and mental instability weren’t the only reasons she hadn’t been mission-approved yet; they were still waiting to make sure she wouldn’t turn on them. It hurt, but even Natasha knew it was necessary. “you can meet my wife.” 

Natasha couldn’t say she was surprised; but still, she raised her eyebrows in shock. “You... have a..?” 

“I do,” Barton nodded. “Married for three years now. It’s off the records but... you owe me, so... our secret?” The younger agent nodded. “And, you’re still a teenager... you’ve got plenty of time for love.” With that, the agent walked away, leaving Natasha standing alone in the lobby, pulling the loose sweater over her shoulder. 

It was a month afterwards that Agent Natasha Romanoff received the first of many letters signed “Prince T’Challa Udaku.” 

\--- 

Four years after they first met and three years after they had officially become a long-distance couple, T’Challa and Natasha decided to tie the knot. They weren’t getting any younger, after all. The prince was actively acting under the Black Panther mantle, and the agent had been cleared for missions two years prior. 

They were constantly working under danger, so why not get married while they had the chance? They saw no reason not to. The prince had accepted that sometimes his partner would have to use sex as a method to obtain information, and—though he did not enjoy the idea of her being touched by another—did not see it as a reason to withhold from the ceremony. 

And so, at the ages of twenty-three and twenty-six, in the closed quarters of the Wakandan palace—in order to help make certain no media whatsoever would be made aware of the pairing—with an audience of only close friends of the royal family and their Dora Milaje forces, the pale red-haired agent and the dark-skinned prince sealed their love with a kiss. 

It was a day that, five years ago, Natasha had never dreamed she would be able to come anywhere near to. She had never thought much about love growing up. Love was dangerous. Love was deadly. Love was a distraction. She had no room for love. And then things changed. 

And now the Black Widow—ruthless killer with blood-stained hands—had become a princess. It was quite a strange turn of fate, indeed. 

\--- 

Long distance relationships—let alone long distance marriages—sucked. 

\--- 

Natasha—now twenty-seven—sat on the sofa next to the genius billionaire playboy philanthropist himself; Tony Stark, gently rubbing concealer onto a rather nasty bruise that decorated his face. All the while, the billionaire rambled on about who-knows-what. “I gotta say it,” he blurted. “It’s hard to get a read on you. Where are you from?” 

“Legal,” she told him. That was the only answer he had gotten, and the only one he was going to get. Besides, the true answer was too complicated. Was she from DC, the city she currently held her roots in? Was she from Russia, where she was born, raised, and stained with red? Or was she from Wakanda, the country to which she was currently the only dual-citizen in history—as well as the princess? 

Biting his lip and wincing lightly as the agent continued to work the makeup onto his wound, Tony spoke again. “Can I ask you a question, hypothetically?” Natasha-as-Natalie looked at him, and then nodded slowly. “Bit odd... if this was your last birthday you were ever gonna have, how would you celebrate it?” She was smart and well trained—she knew he was on his deathbed, and yet refused to tell even his closest friends. 

Natasha-as-Natalie thought for a few moments; despite everything, she wanted him to trust her. After all, if things went well they would be teammates, and she wanted him to tell her himself of his ailment—she wanted to help him. So she decided to begin the reveal slowly. “I think I would pay my husband a visit. Spend the day together.” Though he didn’t flinch, the red-head could tell the billionaire was surprised. 

Raising an eyebrow, Tony turned to face her completely. “You’re married?” She only nodded as she returned the sponge to its container, standing up and walking to the dresser. “Pepper hasn’t mentioned that.” 

“She doesn’t know,” Natasha-as-Natalie explained simply, returning the makeup to its home and turning back to face him, leaning back. “and if you don’t mind, I’d like to keep it that way. He’s sort of a big-wig, and I’m certain you—of all people—understand the level of secrecy they like to keep.” 

“Alright,” the genius agreed quietly after a few moments spent in thought. “You’ve got my word.” 

\--- 

In her cat suit, Natasha approached the table where Director Fury and a very-hungover Tony Stark sat, arguing. “We’ve secured the perimeter, but I don’t think we should hold it for too much longer.” 

Peering over the sunglasses he was wearing, Tony looked at her with a surprised—albeit betrayed—expression. ”You’re fired.” 

“That’s not up to you,” she replied calmly, a small smirk on her lips. Of course, she wanted him to trust her, but she did not approve of the way he had acted out the previous night. The agent slid into the booth with Fury, who wrapped his arm around her. 

“Tony, I’d like you to meet Agent Romanoff.” 

“Hi,” the billionaire fired in a passive-aggressive tone. 

Leaning forward on her elbows a bit, Natasha began explaining for him, trying to salvage what she could of their working relationship. “I’m a SHIELD shadow. Once we knew you were ill, I was tasked to you by Director Fury.” She nodded towards the dark-skinned man beside her. 

Not letting her off easily, Tony continued glaring at her. “I suggest you apologize.” 

Fury ignored him. “You’ve been very busy,” he began, sarcasm dripping from his voice. 

\--- 

That same afternoon, Natasha-as-Natalie entered the office of Pepper Pott’s Stark Industries’ CEO. She was half-surprised to find Tony seated in one of her visitor chairs, and he was clearly displeased with her presence. “Ms Potts?” 

“Hi, come on in,” the ginger offered, glaring at the billionaire. 

“Wheels up in twenty-five minutes,” the red-head warned as she stopped in front of the desk. 

In the doorway, Happy Hogan appeared. “Anything else, boss?” 

“I’m good Hap,” Tony stated at the same time Pepper said, “No, I’ll be just another minute.” 

They shared an awkward look before the genius sighed, clearly trying to cover up his hurt and embarrassment. “I lost both the kids in the divorce.” He looked over to Happy, who shook his head. Then, for a number of reasons—most likely spite—he looked to Natasha-as-Natalie, who was sorting through papers. “Are you blending in well here, Natalie? Here are Stark Enterprises? Your name is Natalie, isn’t it?” When she didn’t answer, he shifted his eyes to Pepper, and then back to her. “I thought you two didn’t get along?” 

“No, that’s not so,” Pepper informed him a bit sharply, shaking her head. 

“It’s just me you don’t care for, then?” Again, Natasha-as-Natalie made no comment. “No? Nothing?” 

Standing up, the CEO began to leave. Stopping a few feet from the door, she commented; “Actually, while you’re here maybe you and Natalie could discuss the matter of the personal belongings?” 

“Absolutely,” the red-head nodded as Pepper made her exit with Happy. Once the door was closed behind the pair, she turned back to Tony seriously. ”I’m surprised you can keep your mouth shut.” 

With an obnoxious—and yet still, slightly hurt—chuckle, the billionaire shook his head. “Boy, you’re good. You are mind-blowingly duplicitous. How do you do it? You just tear things… You’re a triple imposter. I’ve never seen anything like you. Is there anything real about you? Do you even have a husband?” 

Blinking at him a few times, Natasha shook her head. “That is for me to know; I no longer feel any obligation to make amends with you.” With that, she began walking towards the door, speaking as she did so. “Now you can either drive yourself home, or I can have you collected.” 

\--- 

Demi-gods—or god-like extraterrestrials—exist. 

\--- 

Captain America is alive. Who would’ve thought? 

\--- 

When Loki invaded New York, Natasha briefly considered asking her husband to come and aid in the fight, but—having not completely lost hope in her own team—she never did so. It was as much her country now as it was his. They respected her, trusted her, and accepted her as their princess and future queen. Not a single one of the Wakandan population had revealed her secret, so she could not reveal theirs. 

When the last battle was fought, though—when the streets of the big-city were littered with debris, blood, and corpses and the scepter had been confiscated by SHIELD—the team had brief accommodations in the lower and unharmed floors of Stark Tower. A day after the fight, Natasha snuck into an empty room and pressed into one of the simple, black beads on her wrist that no one else seemed to have noticed. A few seconds later, a familiar figure appeared in the hologram suspended above the bracelet. 

“Natasha,” was the first thing T’Challa said, and she heard the relief in his voice, the worry dissipating. “Are you alright, my love?” 

She smiled at him, ignoring the several bruises and sore muscles covering her entire figure. “I am fine, T’Challa. My team did great work here.” 

“I considered flying out to assist,” the prince informed her. It sounded factual, but she knew how frightened he must have been when word reached Wakanda, and she had no security or time to contact him. “and I was very close to ordering the Dora to come with me. And yet... our secret remains intact.” 

“All the better for Wakanda, my prince.” 

There was silence for a few moments, until the dark-skinned man spoke up once again. “Come home, Nat. Let me see that you are safe for my own eyes.” Home... Wakanda was not her home. But T’Challa was. 

“I will be there as soon as I can,” the agent swore, a few tears filling her eyes, though she did not let them fall. “I promise.” 

Five days later, she arrived in Wakanda via one of SHIELD’s quinjets. Fury had let her borrow one, knowing of both her marriage and her desire to once again see her husband. She had quite a demanding job, after all, and they were unable to spend much time together in-person, though when she had a day or night off, they would often talk for hours. 

Stepping off of the jet, she found T’Challa waiting with her in-laws only a few-dozen meters away. Approaching them, the prince wrapped his arms around his princess, holding her close and resting his chin atop her short hair. “You are a fighter.” 

With a slight smile as she relished the embrace, burying her head into his chest, Natasha laughed weakly. “Did you doubt me?” 

“Never.” 

“He didn’t sleep throughout the entire time,” twelve-year-old Shuri cut in as the partners pulled away from their hug. 

Laughing a little, Natasha approached her sister-in-law and briefly hugged her as well. “I hope no hours were wasted worrying.” 

“Nonsense,” Ramonda insisted, approaching her next and pulling her into a tight hug of her own. “You are family, my dear. And the whole of Wakanda anxiously awaited the news of your survival. For two days, you could hear a pin drop anywhere. 

“You know this will mean celebration,” T’Chaka chimed in. “now that you have returned home.” Home... the family that accepted her even knowing of her past and the man that loved her as she loved him. 

A few minutes later, the royal family began the walk back to the palace from the landing pad, talking all the way as Shuri begged for tales of the battle and her parents begged for them to be censored. 

That night, once the celebration of victory and the princess’s return home had been finished, Natasha and T’Challa retired to their bedroom. Being summer—and therefore extremely hot in Wakanda—the agent chose a soft, thin shirt and a pair of comfortable shorts from the dresser she keeps as her pajamas for the night. 

And though only a lamp remained on as Natasha stripped out of the formal clothes worn for dinner, her husband easily noticed the many bruises, scratches, and cuts littering her frame. All were surface wounds—thankfully—and many had slightly healed since the fight, but there were a great deal more than he had expected. 

“You are in pain.” It was a statement, not a question, and she knew she couldn’t deny it. She finished changing quietly and then took her spot next to him in bed. He took her arm and examined the many deep purple spots littered about. There were so many it almost sickened him to look at, many of them transitioning into a disgusting yellowish color. He looked back up at her eyes, kissing her hand softly. “You should have told me.” 

“Saving the world comes at a price, my love. You know that.” 

\--- 

Tony Stark is dead. And though she was busy on a mission in her homeland, Natasha paused to mourn. 

\--- 

Tony Stark is, in fact, not dead. 

\--- 

So elves... those are real too, apparently. And they most certainly do not work for Santa Claus. 

\--- 

It was two years after the battle of New York when everything went to sh*t again. In three days, Natasha’s life was turned upside down—for about the hundredth time, at this point. 

SHIELD had been lying to her. They were no better than the KGB. Of course, they didn’t know that they were worse, but still. Fool her once, but never twice. 

And so, with a quick phone-call to her fourteen-year-old tech-wiz sister-in-law and one to the genius billionaire philanthropist that’s beginning to trust her again, Natasha has some sense of reassurance that the files she released—at least, most of them—had been placed in either Wakanda’s vast and evolving network or Tony Stark’s private systems. 

Natasha returned to her home—to her husband and his country—to lick her wounds. Since she was officially out of a job, she had time to spare in Wakanda, which she might very-well have a say in ruling one day. When she longed for action, she sparred with either T’Challa or Okoye, who was promoted to Dora Milaje general only a few years prior. And after a five-month rest, on the emergency number she had slipped into Steve’s pocket when she gave him a—friendly—farewell kiss-on-the-cheek, she got the call to reassemble. 

\--- 

“Peace in our time.” 

\--- 

Nothing is ever simple, of course. Natasha would easily call Tony Stark a friend. And then he created a murder-bot. She’s no longer sure where she stands on that matter. 

\--- 

Sharing a room with Bruce Banner wasn’t all that horrible. He was a nice man—quiet and shy, perhaps just for her. And when climbing into the bed that night, she simply informed him she had a husband wishing to remain unseen and unknown to the world. The scientist didn’t pry. They left it at that and each drifted into restless slumber on their respective sides of the bed. 

\--- 

Being kidnapped by a robot with a genocidal agenda... Natasha can confirm that it is worse than it sounds. 

\--- 

The city is flying, the witch is wearing her f*cking jacket, and Clint is inches away from killing her speedy punk brother. 

Natasha needs a break. Again. 

\--- 

“Nothing lasts forever.” 

\--- 

An explosion in Lagos sealed the fate of the Avengers. 

It was a week before all of the bodies with enough skin intact to do so were identified. 

Eleven Wakandan corpses—either burned or crushed—were transported back to their country. It was a goodwill mission. 

They were Natasha’s people. And they were dead. And the Wakandan population knew. 

But they trusted her. They respected her yet, though they looked down upon some of her companions. And they did not expose her secret. 

\--- 

“Excuse me Ms Romanoff?” a UN staffer requested, and a few feet away a dark-skinned man turned from the window, eyes falling over the red-haired ex-spy. “These need your signature.” The attendee held out a small stack of papers and a pen, and Natasha quickly scribbled down her name. “Thank you.” 

“Thanks,” she said, a sad smile on her face as the staffer walked away to continue his job. 

And then she was approached by the dark-skinned Wakandan prince, a slight smile hidden on his face. “I suppose neither of us is used to the spotlight.” A ruse. 

“It’s not always so flattering,” Natasha played along. 

“Considering your last trip to Capitol Hill, I would not think you would be particularly comfortable in this company.” 

“Oh,” the ex-spy sighed, the smile still perched on her lips. “I’m a bit more familiar with politics than one might assume.” 

T’Challa nodded. “You have connections?” 

“You could say that,” his wife hummed. “Still, if I walk out with a hay-rash I won’t be surprised. Some of the people here would rather see me in a prison.” 

“And that alone makes me glad that you are here.” 

A small chuckle and raise of her eyebrow getting the best of her, Natasha asked; “You also belong in the penitentiary?” 

T’Challa laughed. “No, but... politics such as this can be a mind game. Besides, two in a room can get more done than a hundred.” 

“Unless you’re moving a piano,” came a third voice, and Natasha smiled at the sound of her father-in-law. 

The prince smiled. “Father.” 

“Son,” the king nodded. “Ms Romanoff.” He gave her a playful wink, which Natasha returned with a laugh. 

When her face grew still again, she began in earnest; “King T’Chaka,” it felt strangely formal since she typically called him Baba—she had not used formalities since before the wedding. “Allow me to apologize for what happened in Nigeria.” 

“Thank you,” T’Chaka said earnestly. And then for a moment—since he was certain they were not being listened to—he broke character. “And thank you, princess, for agreeing to all this. I am sad to hear that Captain Rogers would not be joining us.” 

“Yes, as am I,” the red-head nodded. 

Before more could be said, a voice came over the speakers placed about the room; “If everyone could please be seated. This assembly is now in session.” 

“That is the future calling,” the dark-skinned prince smiled. And then, because they all expected it to be simple and easy and a quick trip home, he quickly grabbed her hand and kissed her knuckles. “Come home soon.” With a hopeful nod, Natasha moved to take her seat in the assembly. 

T’Chaka chuckled as she walked off, turning to his son. “For a man who disapproves of diplomacy,” he spoke in their native tongue, isiXhosa. “you're getting quite good at it. Perhaps it has something to do with that controversial wife of yours...” 

The prince laughed as his father cupped his face with his hand, looking down. “I’m happy, Baba.” 

“You miss her. But she is doing what must be done, and we should be thankful that she is accepting our terms. Thankful that she loves Wakanda, and Wakanda loves her.” 

“Thank you,” T’Challa whispered in their language. 

“Thank you,” his father returned. 

With that, they parted ways so the king could walk to the stage and take his place behind the podium for his speech. Sharing a glance with his wife, T’Challa watched from the side. “When stolen Wakandan vibranium was used to make a terrible weapon, we in Wakanda were forced to question our legacy. Those men and women killed in Nigeria, were part of a goodwill mission from a country too long in the shadows. We will not, however, let misfortune drive us back. We will fight to improve the world we wish to join. I am grateful to the Avengers for supporting this initiative.” Hearing a commotion out the window, the prince looked out and saw a team of men running fast with dogs in search of something. “Wakanda is proud to extend its hand in peace.” And he instantly knew what was going to happen. 

Charging towards his father’s place on stage, he screamed; “Everybody get down!” But before the words had fully left his lips, an explosion went off just outside the building, destroying much of the conference hall and throwing him back through the air. He knew his wife was far enough from the blast that she was alright. But the king was not. 

Crawling through smoke and debris to get to him, T’Challa cradled the body of his dead father, sobbing over it. Devastated. 

The words from his wife so many years ago filled his ears. 

_The world is a horrible place, Prince T’Challa._

Indeed it is. 

\--- 

Three hours later, T’Challa sat—stunned and sorrowful—on a bench outside of the building. There is a cut on his forehead; not deep enough to be concerning. His wife sat on the bench a few feet away, and law enforcement ran around as though all hell had broken loose—which, perhaps, it had. 

“I’m so sorry,” she said, not letting the tears forming in her eyes fall down her face. “If I had known... I should have done something.” 

“There was nothing even you could have done.” Toying with the ornate silver ring once on his finger, the prince—now acting king—spoke to his wife. “In my culture,” not their shared culture, now; not in such a public area. “death is not the end. It’s more of a... stepping-off point.” Natasha knew this already, but she also knew her husband needed to get things off his chest. “You reach out with both hands into the Bast and Sekhmet, they lead you into the green veldt where... you can run forever.” 

“It sounds peaceful.” 

T’Challa swallowed. “You know that my father thought so,” he paused to put the ring back in place. “but you know that I am far from the man that my father was.” 

A bit alarmed—but not letting it show—the red-head leaned towards him to whisper. “T’Challa... don’t make this worse for yourself. A task force will decide who brings in Barnes.” Bucky Barnes. The Winter Soldier. And, supposedly, the man behind the attack. 

The acting king clenched his fist. “He has messed with my—our—family now. I will kill him myself.” He stood and walked away. 

And Natasha wanted to go after him. She really did. 

But did he want her to? 

\--- 

“So... you like cats?” 

\--- 

“For the record, this is what making things worse looks like.” 

\--- 

T’Challa entered the garage, swiftly followed by two Dora Milaje in dresses and an attache spouting information as though his life depended on it. “It’s just a matter of time. Our satellites are running facial, biometric, and behavioral pattern scans.” As they approached his car, the acting king saw his wife standing in front of it and signaled for the young man to leave. He was confused but he listened. 

When they were but a foot away from the red-haired woman, one of the guards nodded towards her. “My queen.” 

A weak smile, Natasha shook her head. “Not yet.” Her husband stepped forward with a slight nod, as they were still attempting to act under the radar. She returned it. “You really think you can find him?” 

T’Challa shrugged slightly as he opened the door. “My resources are considerable.” 

The ex-spy laughed weakly. “Yeah, it took the world seventy years to find Barnes. Shuri has a certified super-genius IQ, so we could probably do that in about... half the time?” The dark-skinned man examined her face and her mannerism. 

“You know where they are?” 

She shook her head. “I know someone who does.” 

\--- 

Vision fired a shining beam of energy from the stone in his head and the control tower collapsed towards the entrance of the hangar where the quinjet was being stored. Still, Steve and Bucky ran towards it as fast as they could. Wanda was struggling to to slow its collapse, but when Rhodey descended behind her and fired a sonic disruptor, she fell down screaming and gripping her skull to ease the pain. The tower fell around the two super-soldiers, but they made it into the hangar. 

Natasha was waiting for them. They stopped dead in their tracks. Behind Steve and Bucky, T’Challa climbed over the rubble into the hangar, readying to attack. 

“You’re not gonna stop,” the ex-spy stated. It was not a question. 

Steve gave her a slightly pained look, and yet she knew he regretted nothing. “You know I can’t.” 

Eyes catching on her husband moving behind them, Natasha’s loyalty was divided. Her husband or her friend. It seems like an obvious choice, especially with all that her team had cost Wakanda. And yet she knows that somewhere in his conflicted morale, Steve was right about the danger potentially facing them. “I’m gonna regret this.” She held out her arm, adorned with her widow bites, and shot. But it did not hit the two men. Behind them, T’Challa felt the electricity break through the vibranium in his suit, nearly collapsing as his own wife continued to fire at him. “Go.” 

Steve and Bucky hurry to get in the quinjet. A minute or so later, when they are ready to leave, T’Challa has made his way towards Natasha and the jet. She holds him down as he reaches for the vehicle. And once they were gone, still feeling the pain reverberate over his skin from the electricity, the acting king took off his helmet. 

The look on his face was pained; and it wasn’t all from the weapons his own wife had fired at him. No, Natasha knew the kind of pain he was feeling. The worst kind. Betrayal is worse than bullets, in some cases. 

She swallowed and took a breath, ignoring her inner conflict to the best of her ability. “I said I’d help you find him, not catch him.” She knew such a simple statement would not earn forgiveness after what she had done. “There’s a difference.” 

\--- 

“We played this wrong.” 

“And what does your super-secret husband think about everything you’ve been up to?” 

\--- 

“The living are not done with you yet.” 

\--- 

In the end, killing the Winter Soldier would not avenge the death of his father. Perhaps—though angry and hurt—T’Challa could forgive his wife and rest easy at night. 

\--- 

A week after her quick escape from the German hospital, Natasha turned up in Wakanda. It was unclear how she arrived, but she was there. Ramonda, Shuri, and Okoye all stood stiffly and eyed her; they knew of her betrayal. 

T’Challa approached her slowly. “I must admit, I was elated to—for once—get to fight alongside my wife.” 

“I’m sorry,” Natasha offered, looking down a bit. “But there was a threat that needed to be vanquished. And at the time, it seemed like only they could have the chance to do it.” 

Carefully, her husband nodded. “I followed them,” he paused and licked his lips. “but you already knew that. And it has recently come to light that... you stopped me from killing a shell of a man, who doesn’t know whose blood soaks his hands. But none of it is my father’s. This time, he is innocent. And for that, I thank you.” 

“But do you forgive me?” 

“I,” he paused and looked up at the sky for a moment, thinking. “I forgive you, because you saved two lives; one guilty, one innocent. And,” he tried to crack a smile. “it might be impossible for me to stay angry with you.” 

A loud groan of exasperation was heard from behind them. “You’re really forgiving her for betraying you?” Shuri asked. “Just like that?” Her brother nodded, and the teenager sighed before turning and looking at Natasha. “If he forgives you, I do too, but... do something like that again and I will challenge you for the throne.” With that, she turned and walked back inside, preparing for the trip back to her lab. Queen Ramonda gave a slight smile and a nod before retreating inside of the palace. 

When they were alone—save for the Dora Milaje watching them fiercely—T’Challa leaned down and pulled her into a kiss. After a moment or so, her arms were draped over his neck and his hands were in her hair. It did not stop until Okoye—though having a slightly amused smile on her lips—cleared her throat as an indication that it was getting rather uncomfortable. 

Their faces flushing slightly, T’Challa led his wife into the palace. 

That night, after some very long explanations with Shuri, Ramonda, and T’Challa himself about why it was necessary to help the super-soldiers escape, they had almost completely made amends with one another. And so Natasha sat in bed, reading an old Russian copy of the novel “Lolita.” Her husband lay next to her, reading his own book. 

At around eleven o’clock, after nearly half-an-hour of undisturbed silence, T’Challa put down his literature a bit noisily, causing Natasha to bring hers down for a moment as well. When she did so, he rolled on top of her and pinned her to the mattress. Through her shirt, she could feel in warm skin and she laughed a bit. 

“What are you up to, Your Highness?” she joked—though still slightly cautious after everything. 

He gave her a cheesy smile. “I forgot to mention it earlier, but,” he paused and moved his head down to kiss her before he delivered the news. “tomorrow, you will become the Queen of Wakanda.” 

Natasha’s eyes widened a bit in shock. “What?” 

“Tomorrow is the coronation ceremony,” the acting king explained, voice lagging. “And when I—if challenged—defeat my opposer, I shall be king, and you queen.” 

After thinking for a few moments, biting her lip, the ex-spy chuckled. “You sound awfully confident,” she paused and reached behind his neck, clasping her hands together. “Are you sure you can win?” 

“You doubt me?” 

“Never.” 

She pulled him into another kiss, which very quickly turned into something else a bit... more. 

\--- 

A quick challenge, one made on the arguing point that T’Challa had no right to take Wakanda in the direction he was. Putting a teenager as head of the science division, marrying an outsider and accepting her after her involvement in the deaths of their people, and failing to bring back the man proven to have killed their king so he may face the rest of his life in the Wakandan prison. 

T’Challa won. M’Baku yielded. 

And together, Natasha Romanoff-Udaku and T’Challa Udaku reign as the King and Queen of Wakanda. 

\--- 

Oh, how Natasha wished she could have been the one to put the bullet through Ulysses Klaue’s heart. 

\--- 

“Is this your king? With his little white a*s queen?” 

\--- 

Her husband is dead. 

\--- 

The heart-shaped herbs have been reduced to ashes—all except for one. 

\--- 

T’Challa lives. He is hanging onto the edge of life, teetering closer towards it with every passing second, but air still enters his lungs and blood still moves in his veins. 

They crush the herb and pour it into his mouth, and when he emerges from the snow Natasha kisses him like she may never be able to again. Because she thought she might never get to again, and it was not a pleasant feeling. 

\--- 

“Wakanda forever.” 

\--- 

A blade through the heart of the Killmonger. 

Long live the king. 

\--- 

“Barnes shall be awoken this afternoon,” T’Challa informed his wife at breakfast. Her ears perked up slightly at the name. “Shuri will greet him, and I thought you might like to go as well. Give him... someone he knew before all of this.” 

Natasha grimaced faintly. “I wouldn’t say he knew me... we met once, in my childhood. He does not remember, and we never officially met in this century.” 

“But you are a familiar face. And that might be what he needs right now.” 

And so that afternoon, the ex-spy rode with Shuri to the outskirts of Wakanda. It was a rather small village, a few clusters of huts here and there and farmland all in-between. And while they waited, they sat by a lake and talked. 

“I didn’t like you at first,” the princess admitted amodst the conversation. “And I am still willing to challenge you for the throne, but... you are good for my brother.” The dark-skinned girl smiled lightly at the red-head. “And though some argue that an outsider should not be queen... you should not listen. I think you make a wonderful one.” 

The woman turned to meet eyes with the girl, features softening a bit. “Thank you.” 

After a few minutes of silence—listening to the birds in the trees and watching the ants on the ground—they heard the small cluster of children laughing excitedly and running out of the hut. Standing, the pair turned just in time to see Bucky exit the structure. 

She could see the surprise on his face when he saw her, but Natasha smiled warmly as he approached them. 

“Natasha?” he asked, and she nodded. “What are you doing here?” 

The red-head laughed weakly. “It’s a long story. You may have slept through some stuff.” 

\--- 

Tony finally got engaged with Pepper, and though Natasha knew the rift in their friendship might be unrepairable, she was happy for him. 

\--- 

Some scissors and bleach did the trick. 

\--- 

“You should come to the UN with us, my queen,” T’Challa suggested as he packed for the three-day trip. His wife—staring at his open closet and handing him a shirt—shook her head. 

“I am still a wanted person,” she argued. “they would come for me.” 

“We would protect you.” 

Natasha smiled playfully at him. “It seems as though I’m a bad influence on you.” 

“I think we might be fifteen years past that.” 

\--- 

Now that Wakanda’s secret is out, Natasha wondered if the Wakandan people would still keep their queen’s secret. 

\--- 

She found the answer to be a resounding “yes.” 

\--- 

Tony Stark and Stephen Strange are missing. A teenager disappeared from his school trip and there was an extraterrestrial attack on New York City. Again. 

\--- 

When what was left of the Avengers arrived via quinjet to Wakanda, they were beyond surprised to see a blonde Black Widow, suited up and ready with her new-and-improved vibranium weapons—courtesy of a certain sister-in-law—arm-in-arm with the king. 

Steve raised an eyebrow at her. “I’m beginning to feel as though you haven’t been completely honest with me.” 

Natasha and T’Challa each laughed—despite the imminent doom that they faced—and Okoye looked at him sternly. “You should mind how you speak to the queen.” 

\--- 

“Bruce.” 

The scientist waved at her shyly. “Hey, Nat.” He looked around a bit, eyes falling on T’Challa. “I’m going to assume that he’s your anonymous husband?” 

She nodded. “It seems as though things have changed since you left.” 

“Yeah, no kidding.” 

\--- 

“Thanos will have nothing but dust and blood here.” 

\--- 

“She’s not alone.” 

\--- 

“This is no place to die.” 

\--- 

As the ashes fell to the ground, Natasha gripped her stomach tightly. She felt as though she would be sick, surrounded by so much death. T’Challa did not answer when she called out, and she feared she knew what that meant. 

Stumbling around for a few seconds, the queen finally collapsed onto the ground and dry-heaved as the tears ran down her face. 

They lost. 

“Who survived?” she asked Okoye, as the warrior helped her up from the ground, almost three hours after the deaths. Most had gotten up and gone to check for survivors... but not Natasha. She didn’t know if she could. She wasn’t certain she wanted to know the truth. 

The dark-skinned general looked at her with sympathy. “My queen... you are the sole ruler of Wakanda now.” 

No. 

No. 

They couldn’t all be gone. Not Shuri and Ramonda too. Those she considered family... just like that. 

Natasha shook her head and took a deep breath. “Wakanda is not my country. It is not my bloodline.” 

“The people respect you.” 

“I have no right,” she insisted sorrowfully. Without T'Challa, Wakanda was not her home. She braced herself against Okoye and gripped the general’s arm tightly. “You are the queen now.” 

“If you have not the right to rule, you have no right to transfer your title.” 

“I just did.” 

\--- 

Tony Stark is alive. 

He is the only human that returns from Titan. 

\--- 

“Let’s go get this son of a b*tch.” 

\--- 

“I used the stones to destroy the stones.” 

\--- 

A year after the final defeat in the far reaches of the universe, Natasha paid Tony a visit. He had a daughter now, hardly two months old. Her name was Morgan; he called her Morguna. And the wedding that had been scheduled for two months after the war... it was silent with her as the only witness in the courtroom. 

“Do you miss him?” Tony asked her, referencing T’Challa. He had always known her secret—though not who she was married to—and he had never told. For that, she was grateful. 

Natasha nodded. “Every day.” 

“Do you miss Wakanda?” 

“I keep in contact.” 

“I think Wakanda misses their queen.” 

It may have been true. Though Okoye finally accepted the mantle after strong convincing, she still offered it to Natasha nearly every time they spoke. The people of the country wished to have their rightful queen back—though they did love Okoye. Natasha was chosen by T’Challa and coronated by Zuri. Though she was an outsider and had betrayed their king once before, she was the heir to the throne. But it still remained the truth that without her love, the country could never be home. Nowhere could. 

“Without T’Challa... I would not be the queen.” 

\--- 

“Is this an old message?” 

“It’s the front door.” 

\--- 

Quantum physics, as it turns out, is extremely complicated. 

\--- 

She had her best friend back. 

And now she would stop at nothing to get her husband back as well. 

\--- 

“See you in a minute.” 

\--- 

“Long way from Budapest.” 

\--- 

“Whatever it takes.” 

Clint nodded. “Whatever it takes.” 

Standing, Natasha looked at him sternly, then out towards the abyss that was Vormir. “If we don’t get that stone, billions of people stay dead.” 

Sadly, the archer nodded once again. “Then I guess we both know who it’s gotta be.” Standing in front of her, he took her hand and squeezed as a sort of farewell. 

The ex-queen did the same. “I guess we do.” 

The look on their faces were the same; apologetic, because they knew what they were leaving behind. And then they realized that they wore the same sad eyes and wrinkled brow. 

“I’m starting to think we mean different people here, Natasha.” 

The red-and-gold haired woman looked into his eyes sadly, squeezing his hand a little tighter. “For the last five years I've been trying to do one thing: Get to right here. That's all it's been about. Bringing everybody back.” 

“Don’t you get all decent on me now,” Clint begged, tears filling his eyes and voice wobbly. 

Natasha laughed weakly. “What, you think I wanna do it? I'm trying to save your life, you idiot.” He saved her life; she had a debt to pay him. It was red on her ledger. 

“Yeah well, I don't want you to, because I...Natasha, you know what I've done.” She saw the hurt in his eyes. “You know what I've become.” 

“I don’t judge people on their worst mistakes.” 

“Maybe you should.” 

“You didn’t.” 

Almost fully crying now, Clint chuckled through the tears. ”You’re a pain in my a*s, you know that?” They both took small steps towards one another, touching their foreheads as they began to reconcile with old demons. After a few moments of listening to each other’s unsteady and tearful breathing, Clint spoke—not moving away. “Okay... you win.” With that, he swung his leg under her and knocked her to the ground, turning and moving towards the edge of the cliff. “Tell my family I love them.” 

Using her leg, Natasha manages to trip the archer and stand quickly. “You tell them yourself.” She shot him with a widow bite, making sure that he would stay down as she ran towards the edge of the cliff. Clint recovered quickly and fired an explosive arrow towards her, knocking her to the ground. As he takes off towards the cliff and jumps, the ex-queen jumps after him, quickly pulling out a grappling hook and securing him in place. 

At the last possible second, the archer managed to catch his friend’s hand, stopping her from falling as he looked into her heartbroken eyes. “Damn you.” 

“Let me go.” Her voice was soft, because she had people that she wanted to see again; they both knew that. But they both knew how this was going to end. 

“No. Please, no,” Clint begged. 

She looked at him sadly, the tears brimming in her eyes as she thought of the day he saved her. And the day he sparked some hope inside of her that love wasn’t only for fairytales. She thought of her wedding day and the day her husband forgave her. Then she thought of the day she kissed T’Challa—bloodied and bruised—in a pool of water in front of most of the Wakandan population as she officially took on the role of queen. And the day he died. 

She had people waiting for her. But so did billions of others. 

“It’s okay.” Her voice was broken. 

The archer shook his head. “Please.” 

After another second of waiting, Natasha kicked the wall and fell out of his grasp, plummeting down to the ground below as he cried out after her. 

She had blood on her hands and red on her ledger. 

But the debt was paid off. 

\--- 

“We should tell her country.” 

“Would she want them to know?” 

\--- 

When T’Challa awoke, he blinked through the light bursting through the leaves of the trees. Jolting up suddenly, he heard faint voices around him. “Natasha,” he called out for her. She was not there. 

Standing carefully one wobbly legs, it all began to come back to him. The fight. The loss. The death. Did Natasha survive? If she had gone as well, he expected that she would be nearby. But she was not. 

Upon searching all he found were his own warriors and the Avengers that hat gone, all confused and sorrowful. He ran to the palace to find her—his queen—but found Okoye on the throne instead. 

“Where is she?” the returned king asked after a hasty reunion, voice slightly raspy. 

Okoye told him what she knew. “Natasha had no wish to be queen without you... she returned to the Avengers. I received word from her two days ago that they were going to try something big; something dangerous. But,” T’Challa saw the look on his general’s face and his heart sank to his stomach. “I have received no word from her since.” 

\--- 

Shouts from outside. 

Gateways were being opened. They were going to fight. 

\--- 

When the fight was over and the battlefield cleared out, all that was left were the heroes. The thousands upon thousands of Chitauri forces and gruesome soldiers had turned to ash the same as they had five years prior. It was easy to look around now. 

But Natasha was not present. 

So he kneeled before he could collapse. 

\--- 

But his sorrow could only be held off for so long. Late in the evening, when most others were celebrating and rushing all over the globe to reunite with those lost, T’Challa sat alone in the rubble outside the compound, on his knees. 

Because the love of his life was gone. 

He remembered taking a chance and writing a letter, twenty-one years ago now. He remembered showing her Wakanda—true Wakanda—for the first time, and the wonder in her eyes that she tried to hide for fear of exploitation. He remembered the day she came to visit him in her time off and he proposed, and they were married quickly thereafter. He remembered the many times she had retreated to him and his country after a harsh battle, so that he would know she was alright. And he remembered kissing her—with bloody lips—in front of the whole of Wakanda, so that they may know she was their queen. And he remembered the death. The resurrection. 

\--- 

An archer mourns a lost girl. 

A scientist mourns a friend. 

A captain mourns an ally. 

A team mourns a warrior. 

A general mourns a fighter. 

A princess mourns a sister. 

A kingdom mourns a queen. 

And a husband mourns his wife. 

Gone but not forgotten. 

\--- 

_“Nothing lasts forever.”_

**Author's Note:**

> Comment your feedback! Good or bad, I love to hear from you guys!
> 
> I'm sorry for any inaccuracies or spelling/grammar errors, as this was a monster of a project for me and I am only human.
> 
> And if you have a writing request, you can comment it here or message me on Wattpad or tumblr
> 
> same useername on Wattpad
> 
> Tumblr: @lokixwanda or @iamnatashastark


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